


Welcome Home

by Nopride4531



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Found Family, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Honestly my life is one big question mark already, I think this counts as crack treated seriously, Modern!Reader - Freeform, POV Second Person, Slow Burn, Some-body once told me the feels were gonna kill me, Time Travel, it ain't the fastest burn in the world, so might as well
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23167057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nopride4531/pseuds/Nopride4531
Summary: You never expected to live past your next birthday, let alone get magically sent to the 1890's. Nevertheless, here you are, stuck a hundred and twenty-ish years in the past... and in the care of a group of outlaws, at that. But as you slowly learn to make a life for yourself, you realize that maybe--just maybe--it isn't all bad. Maybe you can finally start living, not just surviving... something you never thought you'd have.Oh, and then there's Arthur. He makes things a bit more complicated. Feelings and all that.Arthur Morgan x Modern!Reader. Heavily based off my Modern!Reader shenanigans on Tumblr.
Relationships: Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston, Arthur Morgan/Reader, John Marston & Arthur Morgan
Comments: 48
Kudos: 315





	1. High Hopes, Higher Expectations

"If I have to chop one more piece of firewood," you say as you brandish your ax, "Imma start wearing flannel. Y'all can call me Lumber Jack. Or maybe Jack Lumber. Or Lack Jumber. Or--"

 _"For chrissakes,"_ Micah snarls. He's sharpening his knife at a nearby table. _"We get it, Y/N."_

You shrug and bring the ax down hard, splitting a piece of wood clean in two with one swing. "I pretended it was your head."

To give him credit, Micah doesn't do or say much of anything in retaliation. Instead, he just sighs, mutters to himself, and leaves. You're glad to see him go. Over the last few weeks, ever since Arthur found you in the Grizzlies, freezing and terrified, you've decided Micah Bell is your least favorite out of the bunch. Something about him just screams "psychopath." You're surprised that Dutch, for all his intelligence, can't see it. 

You've only been with the Van Der Linde gang for a little while. Honestly, you're not too sure what to make of all them. Hosea seems nice enough, and Dutch treats you fair, which is all you can ask for. They may not be the most conventional people, but they're trying their best to do right by you. The whole thing makes your head spin. A few weeks ago, you were in your living room, screaming through a twelve-page essay due the next day. Now? Now you're a hundred and thirty-ish years in the past... and running with a bunch of outlaws at that.

Yeah. Not exactly the life you thought you'd live. But hey: at least you're not dead.

You finish chopping firewood and set the ax aside. Nobody really says for sure that you have to do chores, but you don't like feeling useless. And besides: everybody in the Van Der Linde gang does their part. Why should you be the only exception? 

A few of the girls--Tilly, Karen, and Mary-Beth, if you've got their names down--lounge by one of the wagons when you approach. They look up and offer you what seem like genuine smiles. You give one of your own and plop yourself in the grass next to them. 

"How're you holdin' up, Y/N?" The blonde one--Karen, you think--asks. "I know this all must be pretty strange." 

"Yeah," Tilly murmurs. "We just wanna make sure you're doin' okay."

You blink, then immediately switch gears. They didn't catch you off-guard. Nosiree. "I'm okay." You shrug one shoulder. "Beats what I was doing back in my time."

Mary-Beth leans forward excitedly, and you briefly think she's going to grab your hand. You get ready to pull away, just in case.

"Must be quite the experience, time travel and all," she says, practically vibrating. "What's the future like, Y/N?"

"Mary-Beth," Karen admonishes with a roll of her eyes, "don't ask them that. Haven't they been through enough?"

"Oh lay off." Mary-Beth swats her away with a mischievous grin. You can practically see the gears turning in her head. "I'm just askin' what everybody's thinkin'."

Your heart hammers in your chest as you think overtime about what to say. You're still not sure how this whole thing works, if there are things you shouldn't say, things that might prove catastrophic to the timeline and whatnot. Every science fiction movie you've ever seen suddenly plays in your head. And even though they all vary in success, one thing's clear: time is messy. Space-time is even messier. Travel through both? Might as well call it a goddamn hurricane.

Thankfully, Tilly notices your discomfort and gives Mary-Beth a hard look. "Y/N doesn't have to answer all your questions, y'know." She shifts into a glare. "Maybe give them some time to get used to everything first, okay?"

Bless Tilly Jackson, you decide. The only voice of reason in the bunch.

You're about to thank her, or maybe you're about to change the subject, when Uncle comes tearing up to your little group, that wild smile on his face you've learned means trouble. Still, when he mentions going to a small livestock town, you all but jump at the offer. You've been meaning to see what ordinary life looks like in the past. Maybe this is the perfect opportunity.

And no, you tagging along has _nothing to do with_ the fact that Arthur's going to be there, too. 

* * *

The journey into Valentine is pretty uneventful, save for a broken wagon... and someone getting kicked to death by their own horse. The girls scream when they see it, and Uncle jumps a little. Even Arthur mutters a soft "shit" under his breath. You, though, just stare. It isn't the first dead body you've seen. Probably won't be the last, either, if you have to guess.

"God, I wish that were me," you find yourself saying, thinking of the internet back in your time, of the dark humor, and how it's used as a coping mechanism. 

Five heads immediately swivel your way. Tilly, Mary-Beth, and Karen stare at you with their mouths agape, while Uncle watches you like you've grown a third arm out of your chest. Arthur eyes you with a look you can't read, and you briefly wonder what's wrong. Then, it hits you like a sledgehammer and you internally groan. 

_Right,_ you think. _Generational gaps._

"I'm joking," you explain. "It's how we cope in my time."

Luckily, Arthur chooses that moment to urge the horses forward, and the wagon starts toward Valentine again. The incident quickly fades, and the girls are soon buzzing with excitement. You can't help but feel a little anxious. Adjusting to the Van Der Linde gang has been tough; you don't want to be overwhelmed by everything once you get into town. With that in mind, you decide to stick close to Arthur. Just since he found you, that's all. It's the familiarity, you tell yourself. Nothing else.

Valentine isn't the most glamorous of places, but it's not too shabby, either. Immediately, you're in awe. A frontier town. An actual frontier town in the 1890's. The history nerd in you threatens to explode as you pass by the shops, the saloon, and the stables. Arthur stops the wagon in a little clearing just after the general store. You barely notice.

"Alright," he says, low and firm. "Remember: keep a low profile, but try an' find some leads. No trouble now, ya hear?"

The girls murmur various replies, then hop out of the wagon, dashing off like little dogs to sniff out something interesting. You watch them go, then look back to Arthur, silently waiting for him to send you off on your own. He watches you for a moment, as if debating with himself, before he sighs and starts shoving Uncle out of the wagon.

"Go make yourself useful, old man." 

Uncle grumbles something under his breath, but ultimately does as he's told. After a few seconds, he disappears into the general store. You're left alone with Arthur. Not that you particularly mind. It's better than any alternative you can think of. As you climb to the ground, legs cramped from the ride, you take a moment to look around. The town isn't really anything special. Oddly enough, you think of the time your best friend dragged you to a rodeo in the middle of Wyoming. Valentine looks something similar to that. 

"Holding up okay?" Arthur says, startling you out of your thoughts. You can't help but jump a little when you turn around and find him right behind you. He gives you a look, then sighs and motions toward the stables with his head. "C'mon."

He starts off in their direction. You practically have to jog to keep up with him, but you don't really care about that. Honestly, the thrill of being in a different place (and the past at that) is enough to make you forgive just about anything.

"What d'ya think we'll find?" You ask, almost bouncing up and down with excitement. "Are we gonna--" You break off and lower your voice. "Are we gonna steal some horses?"

Arthur glances down at you and huffs out a laugh... well, half of one, for that matter. "You ain't stealin' anything for a while, Y/N." 

"Oh." You don't even try to hide your disappointment. "No horses, then?"

He shakes his head, laughing again when you pout. Briefly, you think of sticking out your foot and tripping him, but something tells you that wouldn't end well. You don't want a six-foot-something, pissed off outlaw chasing you around... _especially_ when he's your ride home.

The two of you reach the stables, and Arthur holds the door for you. You skip past him, stopping dead when you catch sight of the rows and rows of stalls. The horses are absolutely beautiful. Almost instantly, your eyes zero in on a Appaloosa gelding, and before you know what you're doing, you're walking over and gently touching the tip of his nose. He whinnies softly, nuzzling your hand a few seconds later. And as you stare at him, absently stroking the side of his face, you realize Arthur's moved to stand beside you.

"I think he likes me," you say. You brush the horse's mane back from his forehead. "Always wanted a horse."

The corners of Arthur's lips twitch, but he doesn't smile. Instead, he looks at the stall--at the price--and shakes his head. 

"Maybe next time, Y/N." He gently steers you away. "Why don't you check on Uncle, make sure he ain't dead. I'll finish up here."

You sigh and head out of the stables, narrowly missing a pile of horse manure. A quick peek at the general store reveals Uncle's passed out cold in the front. You shake your head with a small grin. At least you don't have to worry about him causing any trouble.

As you start to head toward him, you catch sight of Tilly. You can tell by the look on her face that something's wrong, awfully wrong, and almost on cue, an angry-looking man grabs her arm and hauls her toward an alley. You feel your breath hitch. Still, you're practically running their way before you can stop and think about a better approach. You have no ideas, no plan other than _go go go._ Not that it matters. From what it looks like, Tilly needs somebody there-- _right now._

You round the corner and see her pressed against the wall, the angry man's face close to hers. Neither one of them seems to know you're there. Good. Taking those blessed extra seconds, you spy a rock on the ground and quickly pick it up. It's decent in size. Won't kill a man, but it'll hurt like hell. That's all you need.

With aim that's really more luck than skill, you hurl the rock at the man with all the force you can muster. It strikes him square on the side of the head. Solid. A great hit. He stumbles to the side a little as Tilly's wild, frightened eyes find yours. Something about them makes you more brazen than before, and you take a few steps toward the man, hands clenched into fists.

"Back off," you hiss. _"Now."_

The man, who unfortunately looks like he's recovered from his shock, glares at you. Then, before you can even track him, he's barreling toward you, grabbing your shoulders and pinning you against the side of the alley. You feel the breath leave your lungs in one big gust. 

"You made a helluva mistake," he snarls, putrid breath wafting over your face. 

You gag and try to get a knee or a leg or something up to hit him, but there's no use. He's got you trapped. Dimly, you're aware that Tilly's gone, and you have a brief moment of triumph. Smart girl. The last thing you need is for her to get hurt, too. 

"My entire life's a mistake," you gasp out between gulps for air. "... Why don't you add this to the list?"

Whether that was the right thing to say or not, you'll never know. In the next few seconds, just as you're certain the guy's reeling his fist back for a punch, his weight's suddenly gone and you're slumping to the ground. You can hear shouting, cursing, and words you really don't want to repeat. And through it all--one thing is constant.

Arthur's here. 

Several seconds later (or maybe it's minutes; you honestly lose track of time), strong, warm hands are hauling you upright. They're also surprisingly gentle. Calloused and slightly bloody, but gentle. 

"Easy, Y/N," Arthur soothes when your breathing becomes frantic. "You're alright."

Somehow, you find the courage to look up at him. He's watching you, concern in his eyes, and you hate that you're the cause of it. Still, you've never been more glad to see him. 

"I thought he was gonna kill me," you find yourself saying. Then--you start to laugh. Hysterical, unstoppable chortles that come from no rational part of your mind. "Oh man, I looked the Devil in the eye and walked backwards into hell, didn't I?"

Arthur frowns, then glances around. You're suddenly aware that a crowd's gathering... and that it's probably a good idea to get the hell out of town.

"C'mon," he says, carefully leading you back to the wagon. "I think that's enough excitement for one day." 


	2. Lionheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N is bored around camp and gets up to some shenanigans. Hosea takes them hunting with him and Arthur. Chaos ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Accompanying Music: "King and Lionheart" | Of Monsters and Men

The rest of the world forgets what happened in Valentine pretty quick, so you decide it's for the best if you do, too. You find out from Tilly that the guy who attacked you is named George Foreman. Immediately, your mind works on nicknames. George Foreverman. Georgie the Forgie. George Foreplay. You can't really say why you do this. If you have to take a guess, though, it's so you can insult him the next time you see him. If you ever do, that is. Hopefully, you won't. But it's best to be prepared.

It's a nice Saturday at Horseshoe Overlook. Bright sunny skies overhead, and not a trace of excessive heat or cold—perfect weather, to say the least. But you're bored as all hell. You've already finished your chores for the day, and everybody's "far too busy" to talk. Arthur went out a little while ago, too, so you can't rely on him to cure your boredom. And you can only take so much of playing make-believe with Jack before you go crazy.

There isn't much to do around camp. Nobody looks like they'd be interesting, either. Eventually, you give up and plop down on the ground by a tree, one of the bigger ones. The clothes the gang gave you aren't exactly comfortable, and you pull at the neckline of your shirt. Or maybe you're just used to modern designs. Hard to say. 

You tilt your head back to rest against the trunk of the tree. Sunlight drifts down through the canopy. It's a beautiful sight, you suppose, if you really think about it—no light pollution from thousands of LED's, no sound of cars on the highway to disturb you... oh yes. It's lovely. Odd and slightly terrifying, but lovely.

"You look lost in thought, Y/N."

Hosea's voice startles you out of your reverie, and you blink a few times as he sits next to you. Over the last few weeks, you've decided you like him. He's a kind old man... but you can't help the feeling that some of it's a facade, hiding a dangerous outlaw underneath. Still, he hasn't given you reason not to trust him. Maybe you're just paranoid. 

After a moment, you realize you haven't given him an answer. "'Cause I am," you eventually say. No sense in lying.

Hosea smiles and leans back against the tree alongside you. "What're you thinking about?"

Your brain short-circuits, every rational answer fleeing it like there's been a natural disaster. Before you know it, you find yourself blurting: "The sweet embrace of death."

There's a second where Hosea clearly doesn't process what you just said. But then? Then his smile slowly fades. He gives you a look, one with concern clearly written on it, and you feel your face growing hot. 

"Well alright then," he says after a moment, and with an awkward cough. "... I should talk to Dutch..."

You want to kick yourself. Or throw yourself off Horseshoe Overlook's cliff. Or both. Hosea stands and walks away, murmuring something under his breath you can't quite catch. You hope it's nothing bad. You hadn't meant to say what you did. It just happened. Back in your time, you always use morbid humor. Your friends love it. But, you realize, you're over a century in the past; of course things aren't going to translate the same way. 

Sighing, you get up and wander toward the horses. There's a brush beside one, and you absently start grooming it. You still don't have a horse of your own. But you want one. You find yourself thinking back to that appaloosa you saw at the stables in Valentine, dreaming of wide open trails and happy times. Maybe, if Dutch lets you tag along on a job or two, you can get enough money to buy the horse yourself. Wishful thinking, but it doesn't hurt.

"Havin' fun?"

Barely stifling a shriek, you jump and accidentally let go of the brush. It goes flying, landing at Arthur's feet as he watches you with an amused smile on his face. 

"You always this jumpy?" He asks, picking up the brush and setting it on nearby stump. "Or am I really that intimidatin'?"

_Both,_ you think wildly. Still: that's probably not what he wants to hear. Instead, you swallow whatever nerves you have and manage: "I was just... I have a lot on my mind, okay?"

"Sure." Arthur raises his hands in surrender. He watches you for a moment, then sighs and motions for you to follow him. "C'mon."

He's moving before you decide to listen, and you have to jog to catch up. He glances over his shoulder and smiles a little, still apparently amused by the whole thing. Your face burns again.

"Where're we going?" You ask. You hope it's not Valentine. Enough trouble there already.

Arthur turns toward Dutch's tent, where Hosea's trying to explain something, something that's clearly of great import to him. He looks up when he hears you and Arthur approaching, and smiles as if you never had your conversation. Good. Here's hoping he's already forgotten it.

"Arthur," he greets, then turns to you. "Y/N."

"Hosea." Arthur motions toward you with his head. "Think they can tag along?"

The words tag along for what die on your lips as Hosea's expression turns thoughtful. He considers you for a moment, then shrugs and says: "Why not? Gotta teach 'em how to shoot, anyway."

You blink and glance up at Arthur. "Um..." You trail off, then continue a little stronger: "Shoot?"

"Three people'll be better than just two," Arthur adds, rolling right over you. "An' camp's getting low on meat."

It clicks then that they're going to take you hunting, and you find yourself biting your lip uncertainly. You've never even held a gun before, let alone shot one. And as if that isn't enough, you're not too sure you can be quiet enough to hunt. You're loud enough to wake the dead on a good day. Imagine what you would do in a silent forest where the objective is to sneak up on something. 

"Do I get a say in this?" You ask, narrowing your eyes suspiciously when Hosea shrugs and starts heading for his horse.

"Depends," he calls over his shoulder, "would you rather stay cooped up here?"

You sigh, almost defeated, save for one last strand of hope. "But I don't even have a horse."

"I'll talk to Charles," Arthur chimes in. "He'll probably let you borrow Taima." 

He smiles at the glare you throw his way, then walks off with a content whistle. You grumble to yourself. Sure, boredom isn't easy, but neither is being forced to do something—and Arthur and Hosea seem just fine doing that.

"If I were you, darlin,'" Dutch says, sounding entirely too entertained, "I'd start getting ready. Hosea's hunting trips usually last a couple days."

You stare up at him, making your eyes as wide and scared as possible. "Can you talk him out of this? Please?"

It's no use. Dutch just grins, holds his hands up in a _"can't help you"_ gesture, and goes back in his tent. You're left staring off into space. 

Who knows? Maybe you'll think of some way to avoid the whole thing.

* * *

No such luck. 

Within a few hours, Hosea's already packed his horse and Arthur tells you that Taima is yours for the next couple days. You throw one more frantic look at Dutch, who tips his hat at you. A scowl in his general direction has him laughing as you try desperately to get into the saddle by yourself. You're not used to being outdoors, let alone riding horses. Eventually, though, you give up and look to Arthur for help. 

"We'll work on it," he says as he cups his hands to make a temporary step. 

You manage to swing yourself upright, feeling the slightest bit of vertigo when you look at the ground. Everything seems so much different on horseback. Hosea glances over his shoulder. Clearly, he's making sure you're okay, and you give him a small smile. Yep. You're fine.

That is, until Taima takes a step forward. Barely stifling a shriek, you cling to the saddle. You don't know what else to grab, but you can tell that you're already off balance. Through your panic, you can hear Arthur laughing and Hosea trying to stifle chortles of his own. You'll give them hell for that later. For now, you're just worried about falling face-first on the ground.

"Relax, Y/N," Arthur advises. You look over at him to see he's already on his horse, casual and ready to go. Embarrassment curdles in your stomach.

"I'm gonna die," you groan. "Or maybe I'm already dead. You're talking to my ghost."

Rolling his eyes, Arthur reaches out and steadies you in the saddle. His hand is warm on your shoulder. You have to struggle to hide your blush, praying to whatever deity is out there that he doesn't see it. Luckily, he says nothing. Good. You don't need any more humiliation.

After a few minutes, you're somewhat used to horseback (somewhat being the key word), and Hosea sets a slow trot as the pace. You can tell he's just being nice; he clearly wants to go a lot faster. Still, you appreciate the sentiment. It's not every day somebody takes the time to make sure you're comfortable. All you can do is enjoy it while you can.

Nobody talks all that much until you're a decent ways from camp. Then, Hosea and Arthur start chatting about old times, things you weren't there to see. You're glad they don't drag you into their conversation. This is the farthest you've ever been from camp, and you're a little overwhelmed by all the sights. Things look so different in the past. Where—when—you're from, everything's much faster, much more compact and crammed. People don't stop to say hello, or even look up from their business. But the ones in the past? The ones on the trail? They actually wave. 

It's all foreign to you. Everything feels... better? You can't really tell if you think that way yet, but you're slowly realizing you might like it here. In 1899. 

Stars above, what does that say about you?

"What about you, Y/N?" Hosea's voice snaps you back to reality. "You've been quiet."

Thankfully, your brain doesn't freeze, and you're able to answer his question rationally. "I'm sorry, Hosea," you say, reluctantly taking your eyes away from the scenery. "I guess I'm a little out of it. I didn't hear the question."

Hosea gives you a knowing look, as if he understands everything you're going through. You can't imagine he does. "That's alright. I asked how you're doing with everything that's going on. You..." He trails off, then chuckles. "Well, you came to us at a strange time."

Briefly, you consider lying. Maybe you should tell him that you're fine, that everything's a-okay. But somehow, you just know he'll see through it. From what Arthur said when the gang was leaving the Grizzlies, Hosea's a conman. He'll sniff out a lie better than any machine back in your day.

"I think I'm a little... overwhelmed," you admit. "Feels like I'm flying through everything at warp-speed, and Kirk ain't slowin' down the Enterprise anytime soon."

Hosea blinks, and you kick yourself. He probably understood maybe half that sentence, if any of it. Face burning, you turn to Arthur, who also looks confused. 

"In my time," you start slowly, "everything's a lot faster. Here? It's pretty slow, but I'm still moving at my speed." You sigh and absently stroke Taima's mane. "Guess it'll just take some more getting used to."

There's a moment where you think they didn't understand that, either, but then Hosea nods. "You must miss it."

"Yeah." You think of everything that was happening in your old life—things that weren't so good. "I do."

Thankfully, neither Hosea nor Arthur decides to continue the conversation, and the three of you make some ground toward O'Craig's Run. You still don't know how you're going to do with hunting. Hosea saying bear is on the agenda doesn't help, either.

_Mauled via grizzly,_ you think. _What a way to go._

* * *

"You sure about this, Hosea?" Arthur asks, eyeing the bait uncertainly. The three of you decided to lay out a trap for the bear, then ambush it when the time comes. "Ain't exactly a foolproof plan."

From where you're crouched behind a boulder, you absently draw in the mud with a stick. You've been waiting for the better part of thirty minutes. No bear. 

"This'll work." Hosea sounds so certain, you almost believe him. He turns to you and motions toward the brush with his head. "Y/N, why don't you go check on it? Make sure it's set right. We only got one shot at this."

You open your mouth to say something, but Arthur beats you to it.

"Maybe I should go." He looks at you, then at Hosea. "They don't even have a gun."

Hosea rolls his eyes. "Trust me: we would've heard that lumbering beast if it was anywhere near here." 

You shrug and stand, trying your best to be quiet in the shrubbery. Still, you're breaking sticks all over the place as you approach the bait, wincing with each step. Finally, you reach it and kneel down. You're not sure what to check for, but everything looks alright. Sighing, you start to stand. Maybe Hosea'll know more about it than you do.

A low rumble freezes you in your tracks. 

Slowly, you raise your eyes—wide and terrified—to see an absolutely _massive_ bear standing a few feet away. It definitely doesn't look happy. For some absurd reason, you find yourself thinking back to a movie you saw, about three guys who survive a plane crash. If you remember right, one of them got killed by a bear. You wonder if that's going to happen to you. 

"Uh," you manage around a hammering heart. "Guys?" Somehow, you sound oddly calm. "Bear's here."

The next few seconds seem to happen in slow motion. The bear rises on to its hind legs, clawed paws ready for what's sure to be a killer swipe. You feel a hand fist in your collar and yank you back, just as a claw barrels toward your face. It misses you by inches. 

Arthur fires several loud, quick gunshots, hitting the beast with such precision, you think for sure they'll kill it. The bear just flinches. As you stand, rooted to the ground, it gives one final look at the three of you, then barrels off into the forest. 

"Y/N, you alright?" Hosea's hand is still holding your collar, and he sounds worried. "Did it hit you?"

And now Arthur turns to look at you, the same question in his eyes. You blink a few times. It's hard, you decide, coming back to reality after a brush with death. Maybe you'll have to work on that.

"I'm good." Your voice sounds far away to your own ears. "I think... I think I just need to... sit down for a bit—"

Your legs wobble, and the next thing you know, you're slumping forward toward the ground. Luckily, Arthur reacts and catches you before you faceplant. 

"You're alright, Y/N," he says, low and sure. "You're alright."

It takes you a moment, but you eventually get a hold of yourself and stand on your own. "Ye-ah," you say, albeit shakily. "I think I can add hunting to the _'Things I Never Want to Do Again'_ list."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the next chapter! I'm trying my best to update this every three days or so, but it may happen more frequently or less. We'll have to see. Hope ya liked it! Kudos and comments are much appreciated, and if you wanna chat about everything, check out my tumblr @Heart-of-gold-outlaw.
> 
> Yeehaw y'all!
> 
> -Nopride


	3. Dirty Rotten Bastards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dutch confronts the Reader about their recent shenanigans; Kieran finally talks, thanks to a little persuasion...

"So," Dutch says as he walks over to where you're sitting by the campfire. His expression is borderline unreadable. "Hosea told me about your hunting trip."

You wiggle a stick in the air, trying to make it look like a piece of string. "Yep."

"And Arthur told me about what happened in Valentine. With George Foreman."

Snapping the stick in half, you toss it into the fire, watching it ignite with a strange sort of fascination. "Uh-huh."

Dutch sighs and moves until he's standing in your line of sight. "Y/N," he says, voice low and entirely too serious, "you need to be more careful, darlin'. You ain't from here. What'll happen when Hosea and Arthur aren't there to keep you from getting into trouble?"

You shrug. "Guess I'll die."

Of course, _of course,_ the meme goes right over Dutch's head. He stares at you, mouth slightly agape as concern immediately floods his eyes. You internally groan. You'll have to keep reminding yourself that morbid humor doesn't mean the same thing in the past as it does in your time. Still, you stick to your guns and don't elaborate. Let Dutch figure it out for himself.

"And Hosea," he eventually grinds out, "told me about _that_ kind of talk from you."

At this point, you decide to check out of the conversation. If he's just going to lecture, you'll wait for him to climb on his soapbox again. Thankfully, Dutch seems to get the hint and leaves. You sigh. You know he's just looking out for you, as he looks out for everybody else in the gang. Still: it's annoying. You don't need a father. Not right now.

The sun rises over the mountains off in the distance, and you go about getting ready for the day. Abigail and John argue about who knows what, and you find yourself drifting toward their conversation. You know John doesn't do nearly enough to help with Jack. Abigail does most of the work. The thought alone makes your blood curdle. John's a goddamn _father_. The least he can do is take some responsibility and act like one.

Speak of the devil, John finishes arguing and goes off to sulk. You glare at him as he passes. He doesn't seem to notice, though, which is probably a good thing. Sighing, you decide to check on Abigail. She's furiously scrubbing something or another, but looks up at you when you approach. You watch her try her best to put on a facade.

"How you doin', Y/N?" She asks, straightening up and setting aside the wash. "I know this's gotta be confusin' and all."

"He's a fuck-off," you blurt, jabbing a thumb over in John's general direction, completely ignoring her attempt at small talk.

Abigail blinks, clearly taken aback. For a moment, you wonder if you've said too much, but then you decide it doesn't really matter. You're only speaking the truth.

"No seriously," you continue. "What the hell's his problem? First of all: he completely ignores his kid, then has the audacity to get mad at you— _you_ —when you're the one doing all the goddamn work!"

Briefly, Abigail looks so shocked, you almost want to apologize. But then her shoulders slump and she sighs before leaning heavily against the wagon.

"I don't know," she says. "I guess that's just the way he is."

You feel your eyebrows skyrocket. "Oh now that's some bull. Motherfucker's gonna get a piece of my mind—and my foot—if he doesn't square up."

Abigail blinks again, then laughs. "Now that's somethin' I'd like to see."

Before you can continue, you spy Arthur riding into camp. You immediately shut your mouth. Abigail frowns, then follow your gaze... and you're mortified when her eyebrows shoot up in amusement. A knowing grin spreads across her face, much to your chagrin.

"Well now," she says, "if I didn't know any better, I'd say you fancy a certain rough-and-tough outlaw, Y/N."

You snap your eyes to hers. "Not even," you deny, though you can feel your face burning. "Not. Even."

Abigail shrugs and goes back to doing her wash. You look at Arthur as he feeds and waters his horse, then stare at your shoes when he glances your way. When you finally muster the courage to look up again, the corners of his lips are twitching. This, you've come to realize, is about as close to a smile as he gets.

"Y/N," he says in greeting when he walks over.

Your brain freezes momentarily, but you quickly recover. "Hey Arthur... nice weather, huh?"

If there was ever a time you wanted to die, actually die, that was it. Still, you don't bother trying to make a comeback. And lucky for you, Arthur chooses to let it go. Instead, he shrugs it off and starts walking toward the edge of camp.

You follow without really thinking. Surprisingly, you find yourself standing behind him a few feet away from the tied up O'Driscoll. Kieran, if you remember his name right. Arthur gives him a look—and you're suddenly grateful you're not on his bad side. Kieran leans away. You can see him shaking, and the stench radiating from him makes your nose scrunch up.

"Ready to talk yet, O'Driscoll?" Arthur asks as casually as if they're talking about the news.

Kieran groans. "How many times do I gotta tell you? I ain't an O'Driscoll."

"Really?" Arthur raises an eyebrow. "Ain't how it looks to me."

At that moment, Dutch walks over, followed by Bill Williamson. You're not too sure how you feel about Bill. He hasn't outright treated you poorly, but he's not the nicest guy in the gang. Then again, he is an outlaw. "Nice" isn't exactly a requirement.

"Oh who am I kidding?" Dutch says, getting close to Kieran's face. "This boy's not gonna talk. Not yet."

For the first time, Kieran seems to notice you're standing just a few feet away. His eyes find yours, wide and pleading, and your heart breaks just a little bit. You've never really paid him that much attention since Arthur found you in the Grizzlies. He was just some unlucky bastard who got mixed up in a bad scene.

"You want him to talk?" You say as you take a step closer. "Then let's make him talk. Gimme five minutes with him."

Dutch, Arthur, and Bill all stare at you like you've suddenly grown a second head. Kieran, though, just watches you warily. You can tell he can't quite figure out what game you're playing, so you give him your best smile. Honestly, you don't know what game you're playing yet, either. You're just making it up as you go.

Eventually, Dutch shrugs motions for Arthur and Bill to move away. "What've we got to lose?"

He and Bill stalk away, but Arthur lingers for a moment, glowering at Kieran with everything he has. Kieran shrinks back as far as the tree will allow.

"Try anything," Arthur warns, "and we'll have ourselves a dead O'Driscoll."

With that, he walks away. You catch him throw a glance over his shoulder, but he doesn't say anything else. Once you're sure he's out of earshot, you turn back to Kieran.

"Not an O'Driscoll, huh?" You plop down in the grass. "Me neither."

He watches you. "Then what are you?"

You shrug. "Just from the future. I know how this all ends."

It's one hell of a bluff, but you hope Kieran will take the bait. You've got a lot riding on this. Not only do you want to look good in front of the gang, you want to impress Arthur. And this seems like a good way to do it.

"H-how does it end?" Kieran, much to your delight, sounds like he believes you. The tremor in his voice is a telltale sign.

You shrug again, deciding to draw it out. "For them? Not too shabby. For you..." You give him a look. "Well... I don't think you wanna know."

* * *

Five minutes later, you casually approach Arthur, Bill, and Dutch. You twirl a few blades of grass between your fingers, then let them go and watch them fly away in the wind. Then, you turn to meet everyone's questioning stares.

"Y'all ever heard of Six Point Cabin?" You ask. "Kieran says that's where Colm O'Driscoll's hiding."

Bill nods. "Yeah, I know it. Ain't too far from here."

"How in the _hell,"_ Arthur says, "did you get him to talk?"

You shrug and absently draw a circle in the dirt with your foot. "I told him I'm from the future and that y'all kill him and cut up his body into fourteen pieces, then scatter them all around the Grizzlies so nobody can ever find him." 

Three pairs of eyes widen as the outlaws gape at you. Eventually, though, Dutch lets out a bark of laughter and pats your shoulder.

"Nice work, Y/N," he praises. "Guess we can count on you to get things done around here."

You find yourself smiling. "Just takes a bit of skill and a whole lot of lying."

"Well then." Dutch glances around at Bill and Arthur, then back to you. "Why don't you tag along with Mr. Williamson and Mr. Morgan, see if you can't pay ol' Colm a visit?"

At this, Arthur shoots Dutch a look. "You sure?" He asks, giving you a once-over. "They still don't know how to shoot, Dutch."

You know he's right, but the last thing you want to do is stay cooped up in camp any longer. And besides: how hard could shooting a gun be? All you have to do is pull the trigger.

"Take the O'Driscoll with you," Dutch is saying, "and have Y/N watch him. Any luck, we can catch Colm unawares."

Arthur still seems uncertain, but eventually nods. "Fine." He turns to you. "Sound alright?"

"Oh absolutely." You give him a wide grin. "Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know that it's been a while between updates, but life got a little hectic with the whole quarantine business. Hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! Likes and comments are much appreciated!


	4. Bulletproof Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Reader heads out with the boys to ambush Colm O'Driscoll. Oddly enough, they learn something along the way...

All things considered, you think you're fairly well-equipped to handle yourself. You may not be the best at fighting (never really had the occasion), and you're certainly no gunslinger, but you have balance and enough adrenaline rushes to deal with things as they come. O'Driscoll's or bears, as long as you have friends to back you up, you'll be alright.

Well... that's the idea, anyway. In theory. In practice? Only time and experience will tell.

You haven't gotten much better with horses since your last encounter. You still think they're beautiful animals. From afar. And maybe one day, if whatever sent you back in time decides to keep you there, you'll get one of your own. But for now, you'll settle for what you can get.

As Arthur, Bill, John, and Kieran get ready to hunt down Colm O'Driscoll, you find yourself shifting nervously in front of Taima. You don't trust yourself enough to ride without problems. This, to make matters worse, sounds like a job you don't want to mess up. From what you've gathered over the last few weeks (months?), Colm O'Driscoll is bad news. Not that you're traveling with people who are much better, but they, at least, seem to treat people right when it boils down to it. 

Arthur notices you standing there and glances at Taima. Looking back to you, he motions for you to walk toward his horse. He named it Florence, if you remember right. It's fitting. The beast looks like something out of a Renaissance painting, anyways.

"We'll let Taima have a rest," Arthur says as he gets in the saddle. He then lifts you up so you're sitting behind him. "And maybe save Charles some trouble."

You nod, trying your best to ignore how warm he is. "Uh-huh. Trouble. Right."

Bill and John ride up next to you, Kieran on the back of Old Boy. He looks nervous. You can't blame him. After the lies you spun, you're surprised he's not terrified. Well... that you can see, anyways. 

"We'll have to move quick," Arthur says once you're all on the trail. He's letting John take point, and you grip him tightly, not wanting to face-plant on the ground. "Colm ain't getting away this time."

"Damn right!" Bill agrees from atop his horse. The thing's a beast and easily fitting for a man like him. 

Kieran leads you all a little ways away from the Heartlands and into the forest. He sounds better, once he gets his bearings. You can't imagine life in camp has been easy for him. Getting tied to a tree doesn't sound fun in most scenarios. Still, he's not dead. Honestly, that's a step up from what it was looking like in the Grizzlies. 

The forest eventually gives way into a small clearing, and Kieran tells everybody to stop. You find yourself holding on to Arthur just a bit tighter when Florence shifts underneath you. He glances back at you. You don't need to look very hard to see the amusement in his eyes. Embarrassingly, your face flushes an unflattering shade of red.

"It's just on the other side of this clearing," Kieran says, thankfully distracting Arthur enough for you to get back in control of yourself. "I would leave your horses here, if I were you."

After Arthur dismounts, you manage to do the same without falling flat on your face. It's a small achievement, but you'll take what you can get. 

The five of you start heading for the cabin, Arthur and John taking the lead while dragging Kieran along. You trail behind with Bill. It doesn't take too long for a dilapidated structure to appear, and you're not surprised to see it's absolutely _swarming_ with O'Driscoll's. Thankfully, they haven't noticed a damn thing yet.

"Well, this is gonna be a clusterfuck," you mutter. 

Bill's head swivels your way. _"What?"_

"I said," you repeat, looking him dead in the eye, "this is gonna be a clusterfuck."

He stares at you for a moment, mouth slightly agape. You shrug. He should be used to that kind of language, considering he runs with a gang of outlaws. 

Thankfully, Arthur interrupts the exchange before it can go any further. "We gotta keep this quiet," he says. "We can take 'em by surprise, maybe get the jump on Colm." He glances toward three people who are walking your way. "Starting with these bastards."

"You got those throwing knives?" Bill asks. 

Arthur gives him a look. "The ones you so kindly forgot to tell me about?"

There's an eye-roll from Bill, followed by his snide retort: "Last goddamn favor I do you."

You watch the O'Driscoll pissing by a tree, lips curling in contempt. You've heard about them, about what they did to Dutch's sweetheart, and about what a nasty gang they are. Not to mention how they made Mrs. Adler a widow. Sadie still won't talk to you—or to anybody, for that matter. If anything, this hit might give her a little peace of mind. 

"Alright," Arthur says as he motions for Bill and John to get into position. "We take care of the pisser, then move up on 'em." He turns and hands you a revolver, one you recognize as looted from an O'Driscoll back in the Grizzlies. "Y/N, you keep an eye on ol' Kieran here."

You sigh. "So I'm babysitting now? That's some bull."

"He tries anything," Arthur continues, ignoring your complaint, "and I mean _anything,_ you shoot him dead." He glares at Kieran. "Got that?"

"Yeah." You look at the revolver. You've seen enough movies to know a little about how they work. Still, you don't think watching _Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid_ is a great safety lesson. "Got it."

Arthur, Bill, and John head out to ambush the O'Driscoll's, leaving you with Kieran. For a few minutes, the two of you just stare at each other. He's still terrified. That much is pretty clear. You roll your eyes and settle against a tree with a huff. 

"You do know I'm not gonna shoot you, right?" You ask him.

"Y-You're..." He looks astounded by the revelation. "You're not?"

With another eye-roll, you slowly sink to the forest floor. "Nope. Far as I'm concerned, you're an okay guy."

He watches you warily. You can see him thinking rapidly, can see him wondering if you're telling the truth, and you give him a small smile. 

"Listen," you say, just as gunshots start echoing throughout the clearing. You look over to make sure Arthur, Bill, and John are okay, then go back to Kieran. "You and me? We're kinda in a similar boat. We're both new to the gang... well, for different reasons." You shrug again. "Guess I just want a friend who kinda understands."

It takes him a few moments, but eventually, he returns your smile. "Thanks, Y/N... For not killing me."

"Yeah, well," you settle back against the tree again. "I can't make any promises for everybody else."

Kieran laughs a little at that, but then immediately sobers when he glances toward the cabin. "Y/N—look!"

You follow his stare in time to see Arthur heading that way. Through the windows of the structure, you can just barely make out a figure getting ready for an ambush. And Arthur's none the wiser.

Without thinking, you're suddenly on your feet and sprinting toward him. You grip the revolver tightly in your hand. You've never hurt anybody before, never had reason to do so. You've also never shot a gun. But when the door to the cabin bursts open, knocking Arthur to the ground and momentarily stunning him, all hesitation flees from your mind. 

A giant of a man steps out into the open. He stands over Arthur, aiming a gun directly at him before he can even react. It takes less than a second, but you fire your revolver and hit Arthur's assailant square in the chest. There's a flare of pain on your hand, but you scarcely notice it. The man drops to the ground, choking and sputtering, and then goes still. 

"You okay?" You frantically ask Arthur. You let go of the revolver and run to stand over him as he gets to his feet.

"Sure," he says. "Thank you."

He checks the cabin. You, meanwhile, take a look at your hand. There's an angry burn mark splayed out across your palm, and it's throbbing like all hell. But none of it comes close to the pounding in your head as you slowly move to stand over the dead man on the ground... the man you just killed.

You stare at him. His eyes, sightless and glassy, stare up at the sky. Painfully loud, a high-pitched ringing fills your ears and deafens you to whatever else is happening. Distantly, you're aware of Arthur storming out of the cabin. You don't hear what he says to Bill and John. You don't hear much of anything. 

Then—he notices you standing there, still watching the dead man. You see something in his expression soften as he steps closer to you. Still, everything's ringing and ringing and ringing. When Arthur's mouth moves, no sound comes out.

He finally reaches you and gently grips both of your shoulders. With a light shake and some persuasion, you find yourself looking at him. There's something in his eyes you can't quite place. But it sure does look like worry.

Eventually, you come back to the real world. It's startling, to say the least.

"I..." You somehow manage around a rapidly tightening throat. "I killed him."

Arthur nods and carefully pats your back a few times. "You did." He gives you a small, grateful smile. "Thank you."

A quick glance around reveals that the entire camp of O'Driscoll's is absolutely demolished. Arthur notices this, then sighs. 

"We need to get outta here," he says as he carefully steers you back toward the horses. "We didn't get Colm, but this hit'll hurt him pretty bad." His expression darkens. "And I need to have a few words with Kieran."

You look up at him. "You know," you say, voice sounding distant to your own ears. "He was the one who noticed you were in trouble. I wouldn't have seen it, otherwise."

For a moment, you expect Arthur to ignore everything you just said. When he's on the warpath, you've come to realize, it's not easy to drag him away from it. But, much to your surprise, he looks like he's considering everything. And then, eventually, he nods his head.

"Alright." He keeps a steady hand on your shoulder all the way back to the horses. "Maybe Kieran ain't worth killin'... Yet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnd here's the next update! Sorry it took so long, y'all! And sorry that I don't have a regular posting schedule. I'm trying to fix that. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are much appreciated!


	5. Alone Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and the Reader have a heart to heart.

Early mornings in camp are your favorite. Just before the sun rises, you can see everybody about as peaceful as they get. You used to hate the sound of snoring. Now, though, it gives you a sense of peace. Tranquility. _Home._

Something you never thought you would have.

You're usually awake before everyone else. Today is no different. As the entire camp—aside from Javier and John, who are on guard duty—slumbers away, you lie in your bedroll. Staring up at your cloth tent isn't your favorite pastime. Still, it's best you get some time to relax before the real chores start. 

You roll over on to your side. Every time you close your eyes, the image of the man you killed swims behind them. It's been almost a week; by outlaw standards, you should be over it. And yet... something makes moving on impossible. There's no doubt in your mind you would kill him again if Arthur was in trouble. But, in all honesty, that scares you the most.

Sighing, you sit up and brush your hair out of your eyes. You have maybe twenty minutes or so before the rest of the camp wakes, and an early morning walk doesn't seem like such a bad idea. If anything, it might clear your head a little.

You pull on your boots and lace them up. As an afterthought, you grab the gunbelt Arthur gave you and buckle it around your waist. It's better to be prepared. This is the west. You've learned that the impossible always tends to happen... and that trouble seems to have taken a liking to you. 

The river down the hill seems like as good a spot to go as any. It doesn't take you long to reach it. You find yourself wishing for a fishing rod. Place like this has to have some good bites just waiting for a catch. You used to like fishing back in your own time. Never caught anything major, but it was a fun thing to do during downtime. 

Unbelievably, tears sting the corners of your eyes. You don't know why you're crying. Your life in the future wasn't exactly something to be envied. But there _are_ people you miss. Your friends, for instance. They have to be worried about you, might even have filed a missing persons report. Or worse: presumed you dead. How long as it been already since you got sent to the past? A couple months? You're not too sure. Somehow, though, you just know your friends aren't the hopeful type.

You pick up a rock from the bank and hurl it into the water. It doesn't even skip. Just lands in the river with the solid splash. Sighing, you move to pick up another one. Spending your morning trying to skip rocks. What a waste of time.

"If you throw it any harder, you ain't gonna skip it."

At the sound of Arthur's voice, you barely stifle a shriek of surprise. He's standing right behind you. How you didn't hear him approach, you have no idea, but you whirl around to face him. He has a small grin on his face. You've come to realize he really only gets it around you.

"I wasn't trying to skip it," you say. "I was pretending the water's Micah's head."

Arthur laughs at this, then picks up a rock of his own. "In that case..." He hurls it much farther than you can throw. It lands in the river with a bigger splash. "Let me join you."

You're sure you're blushing. Thank goodness the sun isn't quite up yet. In need of a distraction, you face the water again and hunt for a rock. 

"What're you doing up so early?" You ask as you find one. It's pretty smooth; maybe it'll actually skip this time. 

Much to your surprise, Arthur doesn't immediately answer. Instead, he studies you for a moment. You don't need to look in his eyes to see the indecision in them. And honestly, you don't really have much time to wonder about it.

"Well, I could ask you the same question," he murmurs, effortlessly skipping his own rock across the river. You see something else on his face, too, just for a moment. But then it's gone. "You ain't usually one for walks, Y/N."

He's right, of course. It irks you a little that he already knows you so well. Then again, it's kind of... endearing. He cares enough to bother. That alone speaks volumes.

You can't help but think back to other people, those in your former life who didn't even _try._

Again, tears prick at your eyes, and you hurriedly blink them away. You should know by now, though, that nothing escapes Arthur. His entire demeanor changes and he suddenly doesn't look so... well, so much like an outlaw.

"Hey now," he says, hands reaching up uncertainly to rest on your shoulders. "I didn't mean nothin' by it—"

"No, no," you assure. "You're fine. It's just... I..."

You take in a deep, shuddering breath and let it out as slow as you can. In truth, you're not ready to tell him what has you so upset. You're not ready to delve into your life, all the people who've let you down, all the people you've disappointed. Instead, you choose the easy way out.

"I can't stop thinking about the guy I killed." 

It's not a lie. It's just not the entire story. Nevertheless, Arthur seems to buy it as his expression softens ever so slightly. He pulls you into a loose, awkward one-armed hug. You immediately break all the rules and throw your arms around him completely, ignoring any concept of his personal space. 

For a moment, he freezes. You expect him to push you away. Instead, though, he carefully holds you just a little bit tighter.

"First one's never easy," he says somewhere above your head.

"Yeah." You try not to let yourself break. "The first one sucks."

You pull away and look toward the river again. The sun's started to rise, casting a golden glow over the water. It reminds you of a marigold field. You found one once when you were a child. The memory, though, is so faded, so old, you don't know if it ever really happened. Still, it brings back a sense of peace. At the very least, things weren't always so messed up in your life.

"Guess I can sing _Bohemian Rhapsody_ honestly now," you say with a grin. _"Mama, just killed a man..."_

Trailing off, you turn back to Arthur. He's watching you, something in his eyes you can't quite place. He blinks, and the look is gone. Face flushing red, he starts heading back toward Horseshoe Overlook.

"C'mon," he calls over his shoulder. "We should get back. I think John wanted to talk to us."

You think for a moment as you watch him go. That look in Arthur's eyes definitely meant something. Why else would he try to cover it up so quickly? It almost looked like...

It almost looked like he messed up in front of a crush. 

_Nah,_ you think as you follow him back up the hill. _Probably not._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while between updates, but I'm back! Thanks for reading!


	6. Ain't No Rest for the Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Reader learns that Micah is more dangerous than previously thought...

As it turns out, John does _not_ want to talk to you and Arthur. He just wants to talk to Arthur. You don't really have it in you to feel left out. As far as you're concerned, John's a deadbeat outlaw and an even worse deadbeat dad. You've seen him fight with Abigail about Jack. You've seen him basically avoid all responsibility. That really grinds your intestines in a way you don't like, and you want nothing more than to deck him in the face. 

Something tells you Arthur wouldn't mind all that much. Abigail, either. 

Regardless, you find yourself wandering toward Pearson's wagon while John goes over the details of some masterminded plan. Pearson isn't there, but a trail of rum bottles tells you he can't be far. You sigh and go about tidying up the cooking area. He doesn't exactly keep it up to restaurant-standard sanitation. Then again, your ideas of cleanliness probably seem over the top in the 1890's. 

_Filthy cowboys,_ you think. _But oh, to be a filthy cowboy fucker._

"A _what?"_

It takes Mary-Beth's shocked tone to make you realize you said that last part out loud. Face burning, you drop the pan you were scrubbing and whirl around to face her. She's staring at you, mouth agape. It hits you, then, that there's no faking your way out of this one. Instead, you raise an eyebrow as confidently as you can and say:

"I said what I said."

Mary-Beth continues to gape at you. You can see the mortification in her eyes, akin to an innocent soul whose eternal salvation has just been, well, obliterated. 

"Oh come on." You lower your voice a little. "Don't tell me you haven't dreamed about riding a cowboy."

Briefly, she glances over at Kieran, then back to you. "No."

"Uh huh." You give her a grin. "Sure."

Luckily, that seems to be enough for her, and she scurries away--probably to tell Karen everything you said. You shrug and go back to cleaning. There's a small moment where you think about how important "purity" is in the 1890's, but you quickly dismiss it. You're running with a gang of outlaws. Purity is the last thing on their minds.

You finish the last pan and set it aside. The wagon looks ten times better, and yet before you can applaud yourself for your handiwork, Micah Bell stalks over to you with a glint in his eyes that you don't like. 

"Y/N," he greets. His tone sounds about as condescending as it can get.

"Don't call me that," you deadpan.

"Oh come on now." Micah's smirk widens into a shark-like grin. "Don't be that way."

You jab a finger at him. "Don't tell me what to do."

Over the time you've been with the Van Der Linde gang, you've realized one thing sticks out more than you in the past: Micah. It goes beyond most people not liking him. Hell, it goes beyond _you_ not liking him. There's something that makes you nervous about the way he acts, the way he always looks like he's ready to stab people in the back. You've dealt with enough back-stabbers in your life to know one when you see one. And Micah more than fits the bill.

He also fits the typical psychotic case file in every _Law and Order_ episode you've seen. But he wouldn't understand that reference. You want every insult of yours to land hard on him, so you don't mention it. 

Micah glances at your finger, still pointing at him, and raises his hands in mock-surrender. You know he's lying. He's not done. Not yet.

"Why don't you like me, Y/N?" He asks. The question would seem innocent... if it weren't for the terrifying glint in his eyes. 

You shrug, though your heart quickens just a bit. This is a trap. "We'll be here for a while if I list everything."

"That ain't very nice." Micah takes a step toward you. "I think my feelings are hurt."

Almost without your knowledge, your hand reaches behind you to grab the handle of a cooking pan. Just in case. 

"Micah," you say, "I think we both know you don't _have_ any feelings. Besides anger." 

It's the wrong thing to say. Micah takes another step toward you, the glint in his eyes darkening dangerously, and your grip tightens on the pan. Whether you can hit him before he hits you? You suppose you'll just have to find out. 

"Do we have a problem here?" Hosea demands as he walks over. He looks calm, but you don't miss the way his hand is hovering by his revolver. 

Micah looks from you, to Hosea, then back to you. He's weighing his options, you decide, clearly wondering if he can get away with everything. 

"Not at all," he eventually says. "Not at all, old man."

Hosea glances at you, sees your hand still death-gripping the pan, and brings his hand a little closer to his gun. "Doesn't look that way."

Micah bares his teeth. "Y/N and I were just having a friendly chat... Weren't we, Y/N?"

_Go fuck yourself_ , you think, but say: "I've had friendlier."

"Go make yourself useful," Hosea hisses at Micah, "and check out those leads in Strawberry. Dutch told you to do that days ago." 

For a moment, it looks like Micah isn't going to listen. He glowers at Hosea and curls his lip into a terrifying snarl. Hosea, for all the money in the world, doesn't back down. In fact, his stance shifts ever so slightly, and you catch a glimpse of a dangerous outlaw lurking beneath the figure of a kindhearted man. 

You make a mental note to never get on Hosea's bad side.

Eventually, Micah mutters something under his breath and walks away. You breathe a sigh of relief. Not that you were scared of him. Not at all. Getting in a fight, though, wasn't on your list for the day. At least now you can relax.

"You can let go of the pan now, Y/N," Hosea says, amused. 

Oh. Right. The pan. You loosen your grip, fingers slightly stiff from how tight you were holding the handle. You flex them a bit, then give Hosea a smile.

"Thanks," you tell him. "Much as I would've loved to hit him, I would feel bad for the pan."

Hosea laughs and steers you away from the wagon. "Me too, Y/N. Me too."


	7. Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Reader and Arthur head into Valentine; Reader has a sobering realization.

Thankfully, Hosea doesn't mention anything about your encounter with Micah to anyone else. The last thing you need is to cause trouble within the gang. It seems like they have enough of that already. In the short time you've been running with them, you've realized that there's a constant threat looming over, well, everyone. It goes beyond getting captured by the law. These people are running for their lives, lives that society has deemed aren't worth living. 

You might be crazy, but you empathize. How many times has society deemed _your_ life unlivable in your modern day? 

You help out with some of the camp chores for a while. The hay bales are too heavy, and you almost drop the feed sacks on Uncle as he's trying to take a nap, so you settle for hauling water to top off the wash basins. It's simple work, but it keeps you occupied. Really, that's all you need. 

As you're pouring the last of the water out, you find your mind drifting. It's strange, to say the least, how quickly you've adjusted to life in the past. You find yourself thinking back to something your friend once told you, about how if you were dropped in a foreign country, you would learn enough to get around within a month. It's not the same thing; time travel definitely isn't the same as speaking a foreign language. But they're similar, at least.

"You still got water in the bucket, ya know."

A shriek escapes you, quick and sharp, and you throw the bucket up in the air. Water sloshes all over your head. Whirling around, you see Arthur standing just a few short feet away. He's watching you, and you can tell he doesn't know whether to apologize or laugh. He shoves his hands into his pockets and whistles.

"Why're you always so jumpy?" He asks as he finds the bucket and picks it up.

_Years' worth of anxiety issues,_ you think, but say: "It's a talent."

Arthur snorts and sets the bucket aside. "Some talent."

Your face burns, but you try to act as nonchalant as possible. There's no doubt that he sees right through you, but you keep it up anyways. 

"Did you need something?" You question innocently. You're looking anywhere but his eyes.

"Was thinking of heading into Valentine." Arthur smiles a little and puts his hands back in his pockets. "Was wondering if you'd want to join me."

For a second, your brain stops. Arthur... inviting you to Valentine. _Arthur._ Valentine. Arthur and Valentine. Valentine and Arthur. It's enough to make your head spin, even though it shouldn't. And then knowledge hits you, unmistakable and strong:

You've got one hell of a crush.

"Sure," you say, desperately hoping you sound casual. You try to lean against a nearby table, misjudge the distance, and almost topple over. "Valentine sounds great."

Arthur grins and shakes his head a little. There's something in his eyes, something you can't quite place, and your cheeks burn again. 

"Go ahead and ask Charles if you can borrow Taima again," he says, reaching out and righting you as you try to regain your balance. "I'll meet you outside of camp."

His hand is warm against your shoulder and lingers just a little longer than normal. Arthur smiles at you again, then leaves with a low chuckle. You watch him go, just barely managing not to sink to the ground.

Yep. You're screwed.

.

.

.

You find Charles sitting at one of the tables. He's whittling something, and the closer you get, the more you realize it's a beautiful deer. He looks up at you as you approach. Smiling warmly, he sets his knife aside and shifts so he looks more open to a conversation. You feel your heart swell. It's not every day someone would be so considerate. Charles, you've decided, is one of the nicest people in the gang.

"Hey there, Y/N," he greets once you're close enough. His tone is gentle. "Hope you're adjusting to us alright."

You nod. "I guess so. There's not really a guide on this sort of thing."

"You're right about that." Charles laughs a little and leans back against the table. "What can I do for you?"

"I was just wondering if I could borrow Taima for a bit," you say. "Arthur wants to head into Valentine, and I don't think he wants to deal with my stupid ass falling off the back of Florence."

Charles looks thoughtful for a moment, then glances toward where Arthur is carrying his saddle. You follow his gaze. You can't help but smile when you see Arthur gently stroking his horse's mane. It's amazing, really, how hands so rough and calloused can be so careful. 

By the time you turn back to Charles, he's watching you with a knowing glint in his eyes. For the millionth time that day, your face turns red. 

"He likes you, you know," he eventually says. "We all do."

For a moment, you can only stand there. You don't like the way your eyes suddenly sting, don't want to contradict anything, tell Charles that people in your time don't really care for you by default. But judging by the sudden look of understanding on his face, something tells you he already knows.

"It takes some getting used to," he murmurs. "I know what it's like."

You blink away your tears and nod. "Thank you."

Charles smiles at you, then motions with his hand toward the horses. "Of course you can borrow Taima. Have fun in Valentine."

The _"with Arthur"_ lingers in the air, even though he doesn't say it. You blush again, turn away, and start heading to where Arthur's already done saddling Florence. 

Taima is an absolute beauty. Arthur is adjusting the stirrups by the time you walk over, making sure everything's fit for an easy ride. When he's done, he gives you a leg-up into the saddle. You're a little unsteady, still more than slightly unsure, but it's getting better every day. Arthur gives you a nod of approval. You grin at him and grip the reins the way he's showed you in the past. 

"Feelin' more comfortable?" He asks as he effortlessly swings into his own saddle. 

You try your best not to stare. No matter how many times he does it, how Arthur Morgan handles horseback will never cease to amaze you.

"Ye-ah," you eventually manage, shaking yourself out of your reverie. "Guess it just takes some practice."

He sets a steady trot toward Valentine. Taima keeps up with Florence well, gait smooth and sure. Briefly, you wonder if Dutch (or anyone for that matter) will let you get a horse of your own. Not that you mind Taima, but borrowing her every now and then has to be a hassle for Charles. The last thing you want is to be a burden.

"What're you thinking about?" 

Arthur's voice once again brings you back to reality, and before you can stop yourself, you say: "Just wondering if I were to fall from the camp's cliff, would it be enough to kill me?" 

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you know you should've come up with something better. Arthur glances at you, that sideways glance you've come to realize he only gives when he's trying to process something. You give him a tight-lipped smile. It's too late to back down now. Might as well stick to your guns.

After a while, Arthur shakes his head and sighs. You can tell he's trying to figure out what to say... not that there's really much he _can_ say to that. 

"You know," he eventually murmurs, "Hosea told me about that kind of talk from you."

"Traitor," you mutter.

Arthur sighs again, exasperated. "Does everybody want to die in the future?"

"Uh..." You think about Global Warming, the plummeting economy, and sky-high rent prices with a low minimum wage. "No?" 

You don't sound convincing, even to yourself. Arthur rolls his eyes.

"Glad to see things stay the same," he mutters. 

Taima wanders a little closer to Florence, close enough that your leg brushes against Arthur's. He's warm. And strong. And... Actually? You need to stop.

"If it makes you feel any better," you say as a distraction, "I'm just pretty vocal about the whole 'death' thing. Most people keep it to themselves."

Arthur considers this for a moment, eyeing you with that same level look that makes you wonder if you should've just kept your mouth shut. 

"That's worse," he tells you. "You do know that's _worse,_ right?"

You shrug. "Easy come, easy go."

He shakes his head again with another eyeroll. "Just don't go an' die on me, ya hear?"

"...No promises."

.

.

.

The Valentine Saloon doesn't look like much, but with the sudden chill in the air as the sun dips beneath the horizon, it's warm and inviting to you. 

Arthur guides you toward the hitching post, then helps you out of the saddle. You long for the day you can hop down without any assistance. Not that you mind _him_ doing it, but still. You want to be able to fend for yourself should the need arise. 

He shows you how to properly hitch Taima, then hitches Florence, murmuring a quick _"you're alright, boy"_ into his ear before gently steering you toward the saloon. You try not to think about the weight of his hand on your shoulder. Honestly, you try not to think about a lot of the things that rush through your mind. Acting ridiculous is one thing; acting ridiculously thirsty is another entirely.

Arthur pushes the doors open to the saloon just like a classic spaghetti western cowboy. You follow him a little blindly. The room is noisy, filled with the chatter of a decent-sized crowd. Eyeing people warily, you stick close to Arthur as he makes his way to the bar. You're suddenly reminded of something that bothers you in your own time: _drunken morons._

"Whiskey," Arthur tells the bartender. "And..." He looks at you expectantly.

"Uh," you stammer for a second. You've never really been a drinker, and a lot of the options you would have in the future either don't exist or are a complete rarity in the wild west. "Beer?"

Much to your relief, the bartender nods, produces a couple glasses, and pours you and Arthur your drinks. Arthur tips his in thanks, then downs the whiskey in one go. You sniff at your glass. It smells like... well, it smells like piss, but you don't want to look like a square in front of everyone. So you chug it. 

Somehow, you manage not to make a face, even though the beer leaves an awful aftertaste. It feels warm in your chest, though, and while it's not a great feeling, it's not terrible, either. You look over at Arthur and grin. It's likely you won't be able to hold your liquor. You make a mental note not to go beyond your limit.

"So," you say as you signal for the bartender to fill your glass again. This one, you're going to sip... or so you tell yourself. "Why the need to get out of camp?"

Arthur also motions for another round. "Just don't like feelin' cooped up," he admits, "and there's somethin' I've been meaning to run by you."

You watch him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

"Got a lead from an old friend about one of our boys." Arthur swirls his whiskey. "Name's Sean. We thought he was dead, but looks like some bounty hunters got ahold of him."

"Okay..." You're not sure what this has to do with you. 

"Dutch is plannin' on having a few of us see if we can grab him before... well, you know." Arthur takes a deep breath. "Was wondering if you wanted to come along."

For a moment, your brain doesn't register what he's saying. Bounty hunters, rescue mission, that part, you get. But... the way he's acting... so nervous, so unsure... It almost feels like--

Nah. You shut the thought down before you can finish it. No sense in getting your hopes up.

"Sure," you say, realizing he's waiting for an answer. "Sounds like a good time."

You want to kick yourself for that one. Yeah, it makes you sound more confident than you feel, but rescuing someone from certain death definitely doesn't call for a casual tone.

Luckily, Arthur either doesn't notice, or doesn't care, and he smiles at you. You smile back, then lift your drink toward him. He raises his in response, and the two of you drink until there's nothing left.

_So much for sipping it,_ you think as your face starts to feel a little warm and numb. _Oh well._

The next few hours pass by quickly. You stop after three drinks, and so does Arthur. Apparently, you're both on the same page, i.e. not getting wasted (and, consequently, hungover the next morning). The saloon gets a little more crowded as the night progresses, and you have to bite down hard on your growing discomfort. You don't want to ruin this. And besides: Arthur seems to be having a good time. You can put up with everything for a little while longer.

It's another hour before you feel like you're going to explode. Thankfully, Arthur doesn't bat an eye when you tell him you're going to step outside for some air, just gives you a nod with "be careful" undertones. You can't help but smile at him. How a rough and tough outlaw can be so caring... it never ceases to amaze you.

Outside, the air is crisp and clean and does wonders for your anxiety. You breathe it in like you'll never have it again. It's also dark, so you stick by the lights of the saloon. Instinct doesn't change, even when you travel through time, apparently. For a moment, you're struck with wonder at how things can be so different, but so much the same, too, in the future. People are still fundamentally _people._ They're all _alive_ as well.

It's that last thought that suddenly sobers you. These people... they're all dead in your time. Dead and... well, dead and mostly forgotten. All anybody in the future will have are photographs. They won't know what these people sound like. They won't know how they laugh, how warm they are, how lovely it is when they smile. In the future, people just won't _know._ It'll all be lost to time.

You try not to think about what that means for Arthur and others.

You try not to think about what that means for you. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that took a turn.


End file.
